


The Wedding

by breakyourarm



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Bathroom Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-03-02 16:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakyourarm/pseuds/breakyourarm
Summary: Maybe going to my ex's wedding wasn't such a bad idea. I mean, other than the fact that my ex walked in on me getting some extra inches from his other ex. Oops?





	The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> I had previously been to a few weddings, and well, my brain did some damage and my fingers did some typing.

The event of a life time

Join us, DALLON WEEKES, to bind our souls as one

George Ryan Ross III  
and  
Jonathan Jacob Walker 

July 17

-

First of all, why in God's name did my ex fiancé invite me to his goddamn wedding? 

Is this Ryan's way of saying, "Fuck you, look who's actually going to get married, asshole!" because A) He left me, and B) If this is his way of trying to make me jealous or depressed, then it's probably going to work, because I'm a softy and a whiny bitch and occasionally forget that he and I no longer share a bed. Yes, I sometimes roll over in bed at night, go to wrap an arm around him, and then feel miserable for an hour until I fall asleep either crying or more dead inside than I was before. Or both. 

For fuck's sake, I still have Ryan's number in my godforsaken phone. I am so not over him. . . Even after three years. 

I'm that petty. I know. 

Even worse, I only have a week to prepare for a mental breakdown while he and his new, better fiancé make goo-goo eyes at each other at the alter. 

So, I do the only thing I can think of, and call the only person I can think of. 

"Hey, what's up, Dalpal?"

"Heeyyy, what's up, Sea-Man?" I chuckle into the phone, and Ryan asks me what I need. 

I sigh a little awkwardly, "Well, I need a favor from you. Remember that promise we made in seventh grade?"

". . .you actually still remember that?" Ryan asks. We both giggle a bit, "Duh. We're BNHB, and Best No Homo Bros do not forget Best No Homo Bro promises."

Ryan practically cackled into the phone, and I winced a little because of how loud it was. 

"Yes, I do remember our promise that if one of us ever needed to make somebody jealous, we'd fake date. Who do need to make jealous though?"

"Remember that other Ryan guy I dated a few years back?"

"Dallon—"

"Heinvitedmetohiswedding!"

"DALLON!"

I gulp a bit. "Yes?" 

Ryan groans into the phone, "You told me you were over him two years ago!" he exclaims. "I lied, okay?" I admit, "I'm not over his dumbass eyes, and his stupid smile, and his ridiculously soft hands. . ."

"Good God, you're worse than I thought," Ryan tells me. I whine into the phone, "Will you fake date me to his wedding or not?" I question, getting straight to the point. 

Ryan huffs annoyingly, "I guess. When is this shitfest? We need to find a day for suit shopping." 

"A week," I tell him. Ryan says that that's enough time, and we plan for Thursday to go look at expensive clothes that we'll wear once in our lives. 

I flop against the couch, and debate over what I should do for the next few hours. I decide to make a list of shitty romcoms and different ice creams for me to buy as my "After-Wedding-Coping-Pack."

-

Ryan's stupid wedding approaches faster than I thought, and I'm already feeling too much anxiety and my self deprecation levels are rising too high for my liking. Ryan (BNHB Ryan, not stinkbag) and I chose matching tuxedos with light purple bowties and corsages that matched our purple theme. Ryan tried to convince me that blue would have been better due to his hair, but I told him to piss off and that this my mourning party. 

Wherever the hell Ryan and Josh— no, Jason? Jonathan— are getting married at is an hour away from where I live, so Ryan and I get ready three hours in advance. Hour one was spent getting dressed and helping put on each other's ties and corsages. Hour two consisted of Ryan and I pretending to be a couple and kissing so we wouldn't feel as awkward at the wedding (which, honestly, was still awkward as all hell.) Hour three was when we left. Our car ride was done with a Justin Timberlake CD and shitty dad jokes. And Ryan pissing me off by opening the car door at stoplights. 

By the time we got to the actual place, I practically fumed and gripped my car's steering wheel. Ryan gave me an odd look, and I glared at the park. 

"This is where Ryan and I were going to get married," I growl. 

Ryan frowns, and I knew he probably wanted to comfort me and all that jazz, but my heart felt heavier and I couldn't choose between crying and crawling back to Ryan's feet, or using a chainsaw to behead his douchebag self and his dumb fiancé. 

Luckily and unfortunately, I chose crying over Texas Chainsaw Massacre. 

I slammed my head into my steering wheel, making my car honk a little, and just start sobbing. "I can't do this," I tell Ryan, "he's a fucking dick," I wail. 

Stupid Ryan. Stupid wedding. Stupid guy with whatever the fuck his name is. 

Ryan leans over the console and hugs me, rubbing my back and letting me dampen his tuxedo. "Hey, shh shh, it's okay, Dallon. We can leave," he says. I don't really hear him, though, because I'm in my own world and grumbling about my ex. "Why'd he leave me, Ry? H-he said yes when I gave him the ring, and he still c-ca-cancelled the w-wedding!" I cry. 

Honestly, despite being in my pity bubble, I felt bad for non-stinkbag Ryan right now. He just bought us both suits, and I'm pretty sure I'm wiping snot and tears all over his chest. 

So, as Ryan tries to soothe me, I gather the courage and invert my pity to a façade of a more egotistical, narcissistic version of myself. 

I gently push Ryan away, and wipe my wet cheeks with my sleeves, "N-no, goddammit," I huff. "I will not let him make me feel like th-this!" I sigh shakily. Despite my moment of "strength," if that's what you want to call it, Ryan's eyes still looked at me with concern. "Dallon. . . I really don't think this is good for you—"

I grab his face and kiss him. "Just shut up and pretend to be my boyfriend!" I shout, which has Ryan both flustered and taken aback. I instantly feel bad for yelling, so I take a deep breath. "Please," I whisper. 

Ryan blinks a bit, before making me groan as he pinches my cheeks. "Don't raise your voice at me, gayass!" he says. I whine, "You're hurting my cheeks, let go!"

"Apologize first, and maybe I'll think about it," Ryan sasses, now smirking. I whine louder, "I'm sorry for shouting, now please let go!" I plead. Ryan laughs and does let go, leaving me to grumble and rub my sore face. 

After rearranging ourselves into more average citizens, Ryan and I get out of the car and sort of shrug at each other and hold hands. 

We walk down to the wedding setup, which is actually pretty well-done. There's an arch with roses wrapped around it, tables with white tablecloths and silverware set upon them, a bar with rose petals around the table, and a tent over it all that had fairylights hanging around the poles. That pisses me off, because I told Ryan I wanted fairylights at our wedding, but I don't say anything. I notice a table for Ryan and Whatshisnuts and their family next to the arch, and a table on the other side of the arch that says "Please leave your gifts here!"

"We forgot to get a gift," Ryan tells me. I shrug, "I probably would've just got him a blender, like everyone else, and a card that says fuck you on it," I say. Ryan laughs. 

Ryan and I walk down to check out everything close-up, and that's when I feel someone run into me. 

"Hey. . . R-Ryan?"

He changed. A lot. 

The Ryan I dated had horrible emo fringe that I stupidly loved, constantly shaved, and said that he would wear an all-white suit to our wedding. This Ryan had his hair styled up, needed to shave terribly, and was wearing a black suit. 

He looked hot. He looked really, really fucking hot. 

I had changed, too, though. I used to wear my hair a little long and down, and would try to make eyeliner work on my eyes. I also only wore mismatching clothes to piss people off. Now, my head is shaved on the sides and on the back, only hangs a little in my face, I do not try to make eyeliner work, and I match my fake boyfriend quite perfectly. 

I think Ryan was trying to process my change just as much I was his, because we sort of stood there and stared at each other. 

"You look, uh, you look really good," Ryan tells me, sounding breathless. 

Wait a second. No, no. No. 

"Thanks," I say cheekily, smiling and snapping out of my little daze. "Remember my best friend, Ryan Seaman?" I ask, leaning into Non-stinkbag Ryan and kissing his cheek, "he and I are together now!" I exclaim. 

Non-stinkbag Ryan slips into his role, grinning widely and pressing his head into my shoulder. "Yeah, Dallon and I have been dating for awhile now. About two years," Non-stinkbag Ryan says. We look at each other, our eyes saying Wow, this is gay and awkward, and give a quick kiss to seal the deal. 

Ryan blinks in surprise, and I squeeze Non-stinkbag Ryan's hand when I notice the slightest twinkle of disappointment and hurt in his eyes. That's right, fucker. Look what you've lost. 

Oh, hello, confidence! Where have you been all twenty-five years of my life? 

Non-stinkbag Ryan leans over to Ryan and whispers something in his ear, and Ryan seems to deflate more. Non-stinkbag Ryan elbows him and winks. What'd you say, Smurf? 

"W-well, it's been good seeing you guys," Ryan tells us, visibly trying to hold his pride. "Dallon," he mumbles, nodding to me. I blink in reply, but don't breathe for a second when we hold hold eye contact. While everything else about him has changed, that look he's always given me hasn't. The one in his soft, chocolaty eyes that makes my knees buckle. He knows what he's doing to me, because I caught him smirking when he realized I hesitated. He walked away. 

"What did you tell him?" I ask Non-stinkbag Ryan, trying to distract myself from the pain in my stomach. "I told him I've been thinking about proposing to you," Non-stinkbag Ryan grins. I find myself chuckling. 

Ryan shuffles away, "well, I'm gonna go catch up on the girls here. Don't worry, Dal; I'll be your designated driver tonight. Get drunk all you want." The look in Ryan's eyes told me that he was aware of the pain I felt right now. That he's okay if I get drunk over that idiot. That I'm allowed to get snot and tears all over his brand new tuxedo. 

"Thanks, Ryan," I say softly. He smiles, pats my shoulder, and walks away. 

I decide to follow up on Non-stinkbag Ryan's offer, and make my way to the bar. Now, I'm not a drinker, but honestly, I could care less about my good habits. Fuck you, Ryan, I think as I order five shots of whiskey. 

After gulping down the third shot, which I cringed at and did not at all like, someone sat next to me. "Not a fan of the whiskey, huh?"

Good lord, his voice made me melt. It was so smooth and soothing, and it was like his voice was literally fucking me. 

Hi, I'm Dallon Weekes, did I mention I am one of the worst people at holding my liquor? 

I decide to look at the man, and as soon as I did, my jaw dropped. He was actually the most attractive man I had ever seen. His brown, almost black, hair was quiffed up, his eyes were a deep, dark spruce color, his lips were plump and pink, his skin was a flawless tan, he had on a casual tuxedo with a red bowtie and corsage, and I decided then and there that 1) I'm over Ryan Ross and his stupid face, 2) this guy should always wear tuxedo, and 3) I'm so aroused just by this guy's looks, I think I'm going to cum in my pants like a hormonal fifteen-year-old teenage boy. 

"What's so good looking that your mouth can't hold itself shut?" He asks. I blush dark red, "uh- uh-" I stutter. Instead of answering, I drink my fifth shot and begin to order something expensive, but Mystery Hot Guy interrupts me and tells the bartender to make him two of the sweetest drinks he knows. 

I glare at Mystery Hot Guy without force, and sigh. "Why sweet stuff? I need. . ." I suddenly feel embarrassed. Was I really going to get drunk off my ass at my ex fiancé's wedding? 

You goddamn bet I am. 

"I need alcohol. Liquor. Nasty smelly stuff," I tell Mystery Hot Guy. Mystery Hot Guy raises an eyebrow at me, "Well, sweet stuff because you're sweet looking, and why are you so desperate to get drunk. . .?"

"Dallon," I say, a little flushed from Mystery Hot Guy complimenting me. "Dallon Weekes. You are?"

"Brendon Urie." It fits him. 

I sigh, my feelings overcoming the bit of whiskey. "Because. . . Ugh, I shouldn't have come to this stupid wedding. Ryan is my ex fiancé, and I'm not over his dumbass. So, when I got the invite, I called up my best friend and he agreed to pretend to be my boyfriend so I could make Ryan jealous. That dipshit made hearteyes at me when he saw me and I just— I feel like shit."

Why am I telling Brendon all of this? 

Brendon held a different expression now. He looked frustrated, understanding, sympathetic, and disgusted all at once. "Are you kidding me?" Brendon chuckles, sounding exasperated, "that's Ryan, for you. Inviting two of his ex boyfriends to his wedding."

I gape at Brendon. "You dated Ryan, too?"

He nods, taking a swig of whatever the bartender just gave us. "Two years. He broke up with me because of some girl. Man, I wonder if she's here, too," he jokes lamely. I do laugh a bit, though, because I'm in Brendon's position in some way. 

I take a drink of the mystery juice, humming in surprise at its sweetness. I shamelessly gulp it down, and Brendon giggles at me. 

I think I'll stay at the bar with Brendon. It's midday, the sky is dim, the lights are shining, Brendon is attractive, and we're getting drunk together. At least, I hope he'll stay and get drunk with me. I ask for myself, and he laughs softly. "Of course I'll stay here. Your buddy's gone for awhile, isn't he?" Brendon questions. I nod, playing with the straw in my mouth. "Then I get you to myself, cutie."

I giggle, "Cutie?"

Brendon grins at me, "you really are cute. Adorable, even. Handsome."

I begin blushing like crazy, and smile at Brendon. "The- the reason my mouth was open earlier was because I was like. . . Amazed at how goddamn hot you are," I confess. Brendon reddens this time, and we giggle together. Before I know it, Brendon and I are practically leaning against each other, laughing and blushing as we compete with who can give the better compliment. 

Suddenly, we hear music begin playing, and I recognize it as the bridal chorus. Brendon and I stand up with everyone else, watching and Whatshisnuts walks up to the alter where stinkbag, dumbass, stupid Ryan stands. 

I feel Brendon grab my arm, and his hot breath against my ear. "Fuck this," he slurs. He surveys the park for a second, and suddenly, I'm being dragged away by him. I'm too drunk and too excited to care about the few people that see us leaving, and in fact, I hope Ryan sees his two exes walking away from his wedding together. 

I realize where we're going when I see the building for bathrooms. Brendon and I stumble into the men's room, and before I can ask, he has me pressed against the tile wall and his lips are smashed onto mine. 

I grab Brendon's shoulders and moan into his mouth, and I will say this: we kiss sloppily. Seriously. Our mouths are opened, I can feel our teeth clink together more than once, his tongue is sliding against mine, and there is drool on both of our chins. 

And I love it. God, I love it. 

"Brendon," I pant, gently pulling him off of me for a second. We stare into each other's eyes before giggling drunkenly. "What're we doing?" I ask. Brendon wetly kisses my cheek, "Whatever we want, cutie. Fuck Ryan. Fuck the wedding.

 

We giggle more, before falling back into the intimate mood. Brendon nips my bottom lip, and I clutch his tuxedo. "Bren," I breathe, grabbing at his belt. I messily undo it, and he does the same for me. We both shove each other's pants down, and I gasp when I feel his hand immediately slide into my boxers and grab my cock.

"Oh," I breathe out, my mouth sitting open as he begins jerking me off. Brendon presses our foreheads together, and I stare deeply into his dark eyes, panting hotly against his face. I haven't been touched by someone else since Ryan left me, and that was three years ago. That's also why I feel as if I could jizz all over his hand and in my boxers any second. 

Brendon kisses me again, and I begin whining into his mouth. "D-dude," I choke out, "I can't—! I'm gonna— g-goddammit," I sigh, Brendon pulling his hand out of my underwear before I could orgasm. 

"Jesus," he giggles, "it's easy to get you worked up," he grins. I huff, biting my lip. "What about you, then?" I mumble, turning us around and shoving him against the wall. He smirks, "Please. I can last longer than you."

I roll my eyes, "of course you can, dumbass. Look at your stupidly attractive face," I tell him, pulling him over to the mirror. He chuckles as poke his cheek, "see? You probably have people, like me, cumming in their pants just from looking at you. Seriously!"

Brendon coos at me, "but look at you," he grins. I raise an eyebrow, looking in the mirror. "Dallon, you're like a God walking. Look at yourself," he says. 

I grunt as Brendon presses me against the sinks. I let out a shaky sigh, holding onto the countertop as I feel him press his body against my back, and his. . . hard-on is against my ass, being that both of us are only in underwear. My mouth opens as I feel him start grinding against me, and I whine softly. 

"Fuck," I mumble, pressing back into him. Brendon grabs my hips, which makes me blush harder than I already am, because it arouses me and sort of tickles me at the same time, which I'm not sure how to feel about. 

Brendon leans his head into my shoulder, "What if. . ." He grunts a bit, letting out a soft moan that sends chills down my spine. "What if w-we do this without anything on?"

My breath hitches just at the thought of what he's implying. "D-do you mean what I t-think?" I pant. I whine a bit when he nibbles my ear and licks up behind it. It's kind of weird, but I don't say anything. 

"Baby, if you want to, I'm more than willing," he whispers. I glance up at us in the mirror, and choke a bit when I see how red our faces are. Our lips are swollen from kissing, and he's licking his own lips and staring at me in the glass. I pant out and nod, "Please."

 

Before I know it, I'm whimpering like a bitch as Brendon moans, pushing himself into me after getting done fingering me. I was clawing at the counter and drooling like a fucking dog. I've only had the luck of being a bottom bitch a few times when Ryan and I were dating/engaged. Honestly, it's an experience with Brendon. Especially because, well. . . Let's just say size plays a factor in the difference between him and Ryan. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," I groan, leaning over the counter completely, feeling him press deeper into me. "B-Brendon, fuck," I moan. 

Brendon squeezes my hips, which makes me squeak a bit. "Feel good? Too much?"

I nod lazily against the counter, letting out a short breath that turns into a high whine. "S'good— hnngh," I moan, Brendon beginning to move a little. "M-mmh, Bren," I breathe out, shuddering as I hear him reply with a deep drawl of my name dripping from his lips. 

"More?" Brendon pants. I lick my lips and swallow the ridiculous amount of spit that's built up in my mouth. "Yeah," I tell him. 

Brendon carefully begins rocking his hips back and forth, pressing in and out of me. I let out a long moan of Brendon's name, and he grips my hips again. "Shit, you sound so good like that," Brendon grunts, and I gasp when he tangles his fingers into my hair, making me look up into the mirror. "And especially look good like that," he tells me. My breath catches in my throat, and I let out a shocked, embarrassingly high pitched, yelp-moan-sound thing as he suddenly starts to really fuck me. By that, I mean he starts slamming his cock into me and has me making ungodly sounds that would send us both straight to hell. 

"Jesus, fuck! Brendon, oh—!"

"What the fuck?!"

Brendon and I are literally so surprised, we both just completely freeze up. 

And that's how it happened: Brendon had himself six inches deep in me, when our ex boyfriend, now Ryan Something, decided to so rudely interrupt. 

I only gulp, feeling my face burning. My mouth opens a little, though, the smallest whine escaping me as Brendon ever so slightly moves inside of me. Ryan just stands there, looking furious and gaping at us in utter shock. 

"We're kind of busy, you know. . . Getting it on," Brendon says, "can either of us help you?"

Ryan glares, "You— you said you were dating Ryan!" He shouts, pointing at me. I roll my eyes, "N-no, I'm not. He and I were pretending to be together because I wasn't over your stupidass." I gasp a bit, feeling Brendon's nails dig into my hips a little. "Jesus— Ryan, go!" I shout. 

"You can't—" Ryan starts, Brendon groaning in annoyance, "for the love of God, can't what? Dallon and I can't fuck? Does it bother the now married guy that his ex boyfriends are fucking?" Brendon asks, and I let out a high whine as he starts moving his hips again. "Fuck!" I moan, my face burning scarlet red as Ryan watched us in disbelief. "Does this bother you? Huh?" Brendon growls. 

My skin was literally on fire, and I couldn't help the noises I was making because Brendon felt so fucking good, and there was no way I could ask hum to stop with the way he was hitting a certain spot inside of me. "Ah! Brendon, B-Brendon!" I cry out, and I have to focus more on not choking on my spit as I wail and spur out whimpers and moans. God, why couldn't Ryan fucking leave?! 

Ryan watched with wide eyes, and I just give in to this idiotic game Brendon is playing. "God, hhmmh, y-you never fucked me like this, Ryan," I call out. Brendon grins, and all I can do is claw the counter with my mouth open and make inhuman noises as he rams into my prostate. 

Thankfully, Ryan made a loud noise of distraught and stomped out. 

"I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna cum!" I cry, desperately shoving myself back on Brendon. He groans, and begins moving impossibly faster. 

I release the loudest, highest (embarrassingly highest,) and possibly sluttiest sound I've ever made in my life as I cum all over the bathroom counter. Brendon practically purrs my name, and I moan one last time as he cums inside of me. 

-

"So, how'd your night go? I didn't see you during the reception," (Non-stinkbag) Ryan says to me as we get in the car. I lean back into my seat, and sigh deeply. 

I look at him, "Well, I got drunk with and fucked by one of Ryan's stupidly hot ex boyfriends in the bathroom. And then Ryan walked in when I needed to. . . You know."

Ryan visibly cringes. "What happened?"

Despite the embarrassment, I grin. "The guy kept going and we got him to leave."

"Oh my God, Dallon!" Ryan laughs, genuinely surprised. I giggle, "I got the guy's number. His name's Brendon."

Ryan stares at me for a moment. ". . .What's his last name?"

I tilt my head in confusion. "Urie. Why?"

Ryan's jaw drops. I furrow my eyebrows, "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

He pulls his phone out and quickly searches something, and he shows me his phone. 

Brendon Urie (American singer-songwriter):  
Brendon Boyd Urie is an American singer, songwriter, musician and multi-instrumentalist. He is best known as the lead vocalist of Panic! at the Disco. 

"Oh my God. I got fucked by a famous guy."


End file.
